


OC Albums: Vicky

by Omnitrix_12



Category: The Lion Guard (Cartoon), Zootopia, ビースターズ | BEASTARS
Genre: Best Friends, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Family Feels, Family Issues, Gardens & Gardening, Music, Piano
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:22:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27716731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omnitrix_12/pseuds/Omnitrix_12
Summary: Some mammals just can't seem to catch a break. Vicky was always the odd one out; the one nobody wanted around at the party. Why did she get such a raw deal in life, and how could she possibly turn it around? Some later chapters may be rated T.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 3





	OC Albums: Vicky

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone. By popular request, Vicky's the next OC to be featured in this little side project. Sorry I've been slack posting on my other projects, but life has been crazy and (in a good news/bad news way) doesn't look to get otherwise in the next few weeks as I've learned a way to work on a little home improvement project without warm weather. Thanks for all your patience.

As a grade school teacher, Mrs. Mewcham had learned two critical lessons when it came to managing children. One was that eyes and brains were of inestimable value. The smallest detail – a spark of interest or aversion over seemingly trivial matters – could tell volumes about a child’s background or potential future in life. More than once an abrupt change in demeanor or behavior had given her vital inroads into a child’s mind and soul, often when it was most necessary for someone to get involved.

Another lesson she had learned was to always look out for the troubled and the troublesome. Vicky was definitely one such child, and the fact that she was as large as her teacher hardly made things easier.

“Vicky,” called Mrs. Mewcham, “it’s time to put your project away.”

The hyena cub looked abruptly up from a cupful of dirt clutched in her paw. “What?” she asked, a little tersely.

Being a lynx – and a rather plump one at that – made it hard to command cooperation from the young of larger species without getting rough. Mrs. Mewcham settled for folding her arms and giving her charge a look which, if not unpleasant, none the less left no room for debate.

“It won’t grow any faster from you watching it,” Mrs. Mewcham advised. “Please put it away and get out a pencil and paper. The bell rings in less than ten minutes.”

Vicky wasn’t usually the sort of child to get so absorbed in a project, especially something as commonplace as growing a lima bean. She was willful and tended to distance herself from her peers; a textbook loner if ever there was one. On the other paw, she might have been trying to put off the final assignment of the day: a spelling test. If there was one thing Vicky clearly didn’t like, it was spelling. For as long as the cub had been in Mrs. Mewcham’s class – and presumably before that – she seemed to bristle at needing to learn longer words like “negative” when she already had “bad,” or why “neighbor” was right and “nieghbor” wasn’t.

At only ten words, the test was a short one. Then there was only the homework assignment for them to copy down: each read a book they had gotten from the school library about plants (or a chapter if it was a short book) and write down three things they had learned, read a chapter in their history books, and write a short assignment on what they would do if they had one wish and what they might do to make it happen without a wish. Mrs. Mewcham was looking forward to seeing what they came up with on that one. She had a particular fondness for creative writing assignments and doled them out whenever it was convenient. It was a good way, in her estimation, to get kids to really think.

As she watched them get their things from their cubbyholes, she noticed Vicky’s gaze lingering again on the shelf of seedlings.

‘ _Why would a child like her,’_ wondered the lynx, _‘get so absorbed in a potted plant?’_

She walked over and tapped Vicky on the shoulder. Vicky, who had evidently lost track of her surroundings, jumped and spun around.

“Vicky? Is something the matter?”

The hyena cub looked a little dazed. “Huh?”

“You’ve been acting strangely,” the feline clarified. “I was wondering if something’s been bothering you.”

Vicky quickly shook her head. “No, it’s fine. I’m fine.” Hastily she gathered her things and made for the door.

Mrs. Mewcham wasn’t convinced, but she waved a paw toward the door. “Well, you’d better hurry up before you miss your bus.”

“Yes, ma’am,” answered Vicky, and headed quickly for the door.

Mrs. Mewcham looked after her pupil, then turned the other way to eye the shelf of cups. Every student was like a picture puzzle: finding the overall image always began with finding a good starting piece. Something about this whole situation screamed that the piece in question was at hand, if only Mrs. Mewcham could put her claw on it. She gazed thoughtfully at the shelf, stroking her chin.

~

The bus ride home was uneventful. Vicky paid little mind to who sat next to her, but simply sat idly flipping through the plant book. She found the information pretty boring, but at least the pictures were nice. She found it curious that flowers came in so many different kinds, from simple ones like daisies and sunflowers to fancy-looking ones like roses to really weird ones like the rafflesia.

‘ _Why they all so different?’_ she wondered. Sure it was nice to have that kind of variety, she guessed, but what made flowers all so unlike each other? Why were some flowers poisonous and some good to eat? For that matter, why were some plants like roses thought of as better than others, like dandelions?

She must have gotten more engrossed in her reading than she thought, because the next thing she knew the camel next to her was shaking her shoulder to let her know it was time for her to get off.

~

Vicky strode in the door and threw her coat onto a hook, more by luck than aim, before entering the kitchen. “Hey Dad,” she greeted without much enthusiasm.

Her father, instead of being at his usual spot reading, was busy about the kitchen rushing to get things in some semblance of order. “Hello, sweetheart,” he said, with his typical distracted tone accented by some level of hurry. “Got much homework?”

She slung off her backpack and hefted it. “A bit, I guess,” she said.

“Well, when you finish it, I need you to tidy up your bedroom a little. Shianne’s been… y’know.”

Vicky knew all too well. ‘Shianne’ – her parents always referred to one another by name when talking to her for some reason – had been miffed the night before, and it had turned into an argument. Dad – aka Bruce – had said afterward that it was nothing unusual; just worse because Mom was halfway to having another cub. Anytime Vicky’s parents had a big argument, though, Dad would try to appease Mom by straightening up the house and serving a few meals that actually took some time to prepare. Sommetimes it worked. Other times it seemed, if anything, to make things worse.

With a sigh she tried to keep inaudible, Vicky headed off to her room. “Alright. One clean room coming up.”

~

Most of the homework was pretty simple, but lack of interest made it harder to slog through. Math… blech. History… yawn. Science mostly made her wonder how the plant was getting on, but oddly it seemed to breeze by faster than usual. Then came English. Her assignment was to write a page answering two questions: what she would change about her life if she had one wish, and what she could do without wishes to make it happen.

_What’s to write about?_ she wondered, tapping her pencil’s eraser end on the paper like a drumstick. _Except maybe if Mom and Dad didn’t fight so much._ ‘Fighting’ was a bit of a strong word, but they definitely squabbled a lot – mostly about work and bills. Mom worked regularly at a factory and had for as long as the young hyena could remember. Dad, meanwhile, worked through a temp agency and drifted from job to job, having not yet found consistent employment with any one place. When he was between short-term jobs, he sort of kept house in a pretty poor manner.

Vicky knew her family was unusual. Most other kids’ dads worked outside the house, and if anyone stayed home it was usually the mom. She knew that hyenas were usually different that way because with them the females tended to be bigger and stronger than the males. More aggressive, too, as she remembered from the one time her parents really had fought. Dad had gotten some bad scratches, Mom had to go to the police station, and both of them had ended up visiting a pastor every week for a couple of months even though they rarely even went to church.

_I guess I’d find a decent job for Dad,_ _or get a job myself so Mom could take it easier. Mom needs a break if she’s gonna have a cub soon._

She started scratching out thoughts, in between gnawing on a barbell she kept at her desk for when she was agitated or couldn’t think properly. After an hour, though, she hadn’t really gotten anywhere. She was too young to get a job herself, and she didn’t see how she could get her dad a stable one either. She wondered if it was possible to be a mom in someone else’s place. She wouldn’t mind taking care of the baby if it would mean her parents quarreling less.

She was still scratching away at her homework when the door opened and Mom came home. She slipped out, glad for the relief from homework, and stepped out into the bedroom doorway.

“Hi, Mom,” she greeted brightly, trying to put on a happy face. Sometimes if her mother was in a happy mood there would be smiles and hugs, and maybe a nicer dinner than usual.

One look at her mother’s drooping ears and weary expression told her that wouldn’t be today. “Hey, honey,” Shianne greeted half-heartedly.

Vicky felt bad for her mother. Several times since her stomach started to swell up with the cub inside, Mom had grunted or shifted out of nowhere. She had told Vicky this was from cramps or from the baby moving inside her, and that it was uncomfortable. Vicky didn’t like to think about her mom working a factory job while the baby was kicking and giving her cramps.

“Mom,” she asked quietly, “is there a way to take over being a mom for someone else?”

Her mother, who had been fetching a glass of water, turned and frowned in confusion. “Why would you ask a thing like that?”

Vicky shuffled her feet. She didn’t always know the reason, but she had learned to tell by her mother’s tone when something was annoying. Evidently her question was. “I wanted to make things easier for you.”

Shianne coughed out a mouthful of water, and her hand flew to her chest as she coughed again.

“Mom?!” cried Vicky, dashing to her.

Mom coughed a few more times, then managed to get herself under control and quickly drank the rest of the glass. “Vick… Vicky, don’t go mindin’ things over your head. Being a mama is bad enough for grown-ups. You shouldn’t be thinking about it at your age.” Then, looking around at the kitchen, she added, “Speaking of bad enough, where’s your dad? This place is a mess.”

Vicky cringed. That remark was a surefire sign of another argument. She hated it when her parents argued, though she wasn’t sure why exactly. It was normal, right? “He was cleaning earlier. Maybe he’s out in the back yard?”

Shianne shook her head and walked past Vicky, headed for the back door. Vicky knew it was time to disappear, so she went back to her room to work on her assignment.

As luck would have it, Bruce was out in the yard – which, really, was little more than a fenced-in patch of weeds not even big enough to play in unless you were playing something like dolls. As luck would also have it, Vicky’s room had a window opening onto the back yard, which allowed her to pretty well hear the whole argument whether she wanted to or not. It was a bit much to really call it a yard; more like an area of weedy grass surrounded by a run-down iron fence just big enough to let them at things like the water shut-off.

“What are you doing out here?” asked Shianne. “The kitchen’s a disaster.”

Bruce groaned. “Hello yourself,” he answered in a rather surly manner. “I _was_ cleaning the kitchen, but the water stopped working and I had to shut it off. Now the handle’s jammed a-”

“Oh, let me,” snapped Shianne. A moment later Vicky heard a sharp metallic screech and a grunt. “There. It’s back on now. You been cleaning the kkitchen and wrestling with that thing all day?”

“As a matter of fact, no. I was out for a bit.”

“Not the bar again.”

“I _went_ to the unemployment office.”

“Before or after the bar?”

Vicky clapped a paw over one ear. She didn’t know who aggravated her more: her mom for being so cranky, or her dad for annoying her mom so much. From what she’d heard about this bar place it sounded dumb anyway, and her dad hadn’t gone there in several months. Why did her mother keep bringing it up?

“For your information,” Bruce objected, “I didn’t go near the bar. The office would have kept me busy too long anyway.”

That, at least, seemed to check Shianne’s temperament for the moment. “And what’d they say?” she asked.

Vicky pricked her ears up. Had her dad gotten a job? He was always looking for one he couuld keep, but for the longest time all he’d had were temporary ones.

Bruce sighed. “They had some options open in the security field, but I’d have to take classes and those cost money.”

One could almost hear Shianne rolling her eyes. “You know, it’s pretty sad that I married you to give our daughter a decent life.”

Vicky stopped cold. _‘Mom married Dad because of me?’_ she thought.

The argument began to escalate, and Vicky finally retreated to the front porch to get away from the noise. Soon tear drops spattered her assignment as she tried to scratch out a wish.

She’d always thought that at some point her mom and dad had loved one another and decided to stay together forever like other families. If they had only married so she could have a good life, did that mean they didn’t love each other?

By the time supper – eaten in silence as usual – was ready, Vicky had her wish written out. She wished her parents could be happy,,, and her solution would be to run away from home.

~

That night, Vicky crept out of bed and went through her room very quietly so she wouldn’t wake up her parents. She emptied her knapsack and then put as many of her clothes in as she could fit. Then she went to the kitchen, pinched some lizard jerky and dried crickets and a few other snacks, and made for the door.

Then she stopped. If she were running away she wouldn’t be going to school anymore. At least, runaways never went to school that she knew of. Going back to her room, she picked up her homework assignment. She happened to know where her teacher, Mrs. Mewcham, lived. Once she had talked her father into taking a detour through a nicer neighborhood to let her see the houses decorated for Christmas, and she had seen the bobcat out hanging up lights. She could swing by Mrs. Mewcham’s house and slip her homework under the door or something. Then… well, then she’d figure out what to do from there; find an island out on the river, or an abandoned box car or something.

It was dark and cool – though not cold by any means – as she slipped through the streets with her loaded knapsack. She had to dodge one or two clusters of mammals, having heard that bad things happened in her neighborhood after dark, but she managed to get out and into nicer streets with more lights and better houses. The wrought iron fences gave way to picket or bamboo ones. She couldn’t help wishing now that she and her parents could afford to live in houses like these. Maybe then they’d be happy and not so angry.

After wandering along several streets she found the house with ‘Mewcham’ on its mailbox and a car out front bearing the bumper sticker, ‘I Teach. What’s Your Superpower?’

Slipping up to the front door, she tried to slip the paper underneath only to find that the door fit too neatly in its frame. She stood up and looked for a mail slot, but found none. It occurred to her to slip it in the mailbox, but just then her eye happened to fall on a window open a couple of inches. That would do the trick.

At least, it would have if she hadn’t overlooked the cactus garden underneath. Her pained shriek was swiftly answered by a terrified one from within, and in two seconds she was face-to-face with the staring eyes of a male bobcat brandishing a bronze bowling trophy as a weapon.

“What in the name of-?!” he demanded as Vicky jumped back. “Hey, hold it! Who are you?”

“I’m sorry!” Vicky rushed, trying not to cry at the pain in her leg. She’d always been told hyenas were supposed to be too tough to cry.

A voice sounded from inside. “Wait a minute.” In a moment, the familiar face of Mrs. Mewcham was looking out at her in bewilderment. “Vicky? What are you doing here?”

Vicky clenched her teeth. _Shoot,_ those cacti hurt. “I… I was dropping off my homework,” she explained.

“At three in the morning?” asked Mr. Mewcham.

“I’m running away,” Vicky explained. “I figured I won’t be going to school, so-”

Mrs. Mewcham shook her head. “Vicky, why don’t you come inside so we can sort this out and bandage your leg. Those scratches look awful.”

~

Mrs. Mewcham didn’t need much time to get Vicky patched up, or to introduce her to her husband. Mr. Mewcham, being somewhat on the territorial side, was skeptical of their intruder at first but readily shifted to a more sympathetic tone. This shift moved all the more as Vicky explained the reason for her visit.

“So you think it’s your fault that your parents fight?” asked Mrs. Mewcham, her tone almost as sorry as Vicky felt.

Vicky nodded.

“By the sound of it they were fighting before you came along,” added Mr. Mewcham. Then, at a confused look from Vicky and a reproachful one from his wife, he backed down.

“You shouldn’t blame yourself for other people’s attitudes,” he advised by way of an amendment.

“That’s right,” Mrs. Mewcham affirmed gently.

Vicky hung her head. “I just want Mom and Dad to love each other like parents.”

Mrs. Mewcham gazed at her, then opened her arms. “Come here,” she said quietly. She quietly took Vicky in a hug, patting and stroking her back. The truth was, she understood Vicky’s plight in ways the poor girl couldn’t begin to fathom yet. What mad it worse still was that part of her almost envied Vicky even as she pitied her; pitied her for having to grow up with such dysfunctional parents, but envied her for at least knowing who both of them were.

She had grown up without even knowing who her father was; only that her mother did not love him and probably never had. As far back as she could remember she had wondered why their family had no daddy, and from the first time she’d asked her mother had only said she didn’t want to know. Vicky had messed-up parents, it was true, but at least she had something. Every fiber of the teacher’s being, though, knew that she couldn’t say that; not now, and probably not ever. It would be beyond cruel, and life had been cruel enough to Vicky already.

All she could say was what she had waited decades to hear, until she heard it from the man who became her husband.

“Your parents… I don’t know all of what’s going on with them, but I promise it’s not your fault.”

Vicky couldn’t keep back a sob anymore. “Why can’t I just have a normal life?” she asked.

Mr. Mewcham looked on, then made for the kitchen. “Sounds like this might take a while. Coffee, honey?”

While Mr. Mewcham tackled drinks, Mrs. Mewcham sat Vicky down for a heart-to-heart talk. “I’m sorry to be saying this, Vicky, but I think your parents are more normal than you think. The truth is, all couples argue sometimes. Even Jack and I have had our share of tiffs. Maybe your parents do get a bit angrier at each other than most, but at the end of the day that’s part of life.”

Vicky sniffed, staring at her paws folded in her lap. “I don’t see any of the other kids’ parents fight,” she murmured.

“How much do you see of the other kids or their parents?” asked Mrs. Mewcham.

“Not much. Don’t want to, either. I just wish I could be alone.”

Given that Mrs. Mewcham had been warming up to tell Vicky that the two of them could be friends, this remark bit like a snake. She did her best not to let it show. “Well, we all need a little solitude now and then,” she allowed, “but no one’s meant to live life alone.”

“Why not?”

“Well, it’s like… hm, let me think about that.” Mrs. Mewcham rubbed her chin. “You know that lima bean you’ve been growing in class?”

Vicky nodded. “But it’s not growing.”

“It will if you give it time. Now you see, beans can grow on their own if you let them. Flowers and other plants can grow all by themselves. The problem is that none of them are really meant to grow like that. Most plants can’t pollinate all by themselves, and most of them don’t even look nice alone. And you know, there’s another lesson you could learn from plants too.”

“Like what?”

“Well, have you ever seen a rose bush or an apple tree unhappy with where it was?”

Vicky frowned at the strange image. “What kind of question is that?”

“One that’s more important than you might think. Have you ever read the Bible, Vicky?”

“No.”

“Well there’s a verse in it that says there’s a time for everything; a time to plant crops and a time to harvest, a time to build and a time to tear down, and so on. Right now I think you’re in a season in life where you just need to grow – and when plants grow, they don’t waste time on where they can’t grow or what they can’t be. They just branch out in whatever direction they can and work on being the best they can of whatever they are.”

Vicky frowned, thinking this over. “You want me to be like a _plant?”_

“I’m saying you should learn something from them. You don’t have to be like the other kids, Vicky. Frankly I think it would be a terrible loss if you were like them. You’re an individual, and where you are in life the best thing you can do is figure out who you’re meant to be. I know how hard it is not to get wrapped up in what others are doing or how you wish it would change, but you can’t make them any different than they choose to be. All you can really change is your own choices.”

It was a lot for a six-year-old to take in, and it didn’t take a genius to see that Vicky was, as the saying went, dog tired. “I’ll try,” she promised, “but can I go to bed now?”

“Yes, but I think we’d better get you home to your own bed. We don’t have a guest room, I’m afraid.”

Vicky frowned anxiously. “Mom and Dad’ll be mad if they wake up.”

Mrs. Mewcham didn’t know Vicky’s parents too well, but it was easy to guess that they might indeed be upset if they woke up and found their daughter sneaking back in – or, worse yet, found her gone with no sign of where she went. “Maybe,” she answered, “but you might be able to get in without them waking up. If you wait too long you’re sure to lose even that chance.”

At this Vicky brightened a little. “You mean you won’t tell them I was out?”

The she-lynx bit her lip. As much as she hated to betray a confidence, the fact was that she had to tell Vicky’s parents where she had been… eventually. “Not until I can make sure they’re prepared for it,” she promised, hedging her bets.

It took some doing to persuade Vicky that this was the best course of action, but in the end the late hour and her dread of being caught sooner rather than later won out. Rubbing sleep from her eyes and yawning, she let herself be led – or carried, more like – to the Mewchams’ car. Mrs. Mewcham took it on herself to drive the cub home, and had half an hour’s work to wake her up when they got there. At least the lights were still out.

“Will you come in too?” asked Vicky when she had finally been coaxed out of her nap in the passenger seat.

“Only if I see a lot of lights coming on,” answered Mrs. Mewcham.

Vicky dragged herself out of the car and through the gate to her house, turning to wave back at her teacher. In the dim light of the wee hours, she saw Mrs. Mewcham wave back. It was rough, but as exhausted as she was she felt a little better now. Nothing had changed about her situation, and especially not about her parents, but at least she had one thing going for her now.

No… that wasn’t quite right either. She’d always had a friend in Mrs. Mewcham, but until that night she hadn’t understood that.

~

Some weeks later, Vicky guessed her parents must have had that meeting with Mrs. Mewcham. They didn’t say anything, but her dad did take her out to the park and push her on the swings; just for the heck of it, he said. She also noticed her parents arguing less, or at least being quieter about it. It wasn’t exactly normal, but it did help.

Perhaps the best part, though, came when it was time to take home her lima bean, which naturally had sprouted eventually and was doing quite well. At the end of their after school time that day, Mrs. Meecham told her to wait a minute. Vicky watched as the teacher went to the closet and pulled out a box.

“What is it?” asked Vicky.

“Well, call it an early birthday present and a congratulations for working so hard on your project,” said Mrs. Mewcham. “Open it and see.”

Vicky opened the box expecting to find a new blouse or something like that; the kind of thing she usually got from her more distant relatives on birthdays. She certainly wasn’t expecting to find…

“What are these?” she asked, looking up from the box with her face scrunched in confusion.

Mrs. Mewcham reached in and took out the items one by one. “Just a few things I thought you’d enjoy. A claw, a trowel, a watering can, a few other small tools, work gloves, and…” reaching into the very bottom she pulled out several paper packets and a few small boxes. “Seeds. My husband already dropped off the shovel and rake at your house. We couldn’t fit them in the box without ruining the surprise or making it too big.”

“Garden tools? Because of the lima bean project?”

Mrs. Mewcham smiled. “Vicky, I’ve been watching the attention you paid to this project. I’ve also been watching your grades, and I think taking care of that plant has done a lot more for your state of mind than you realize. Call me crazy, but I think you could be very good as a gardener, and I think you’d get a lot out of it.”

As much as she didn’t want to seem unappreciative, Vicky couldn’t help thinking it was all too weird. Since when did hyenas plant gardens and grow flowers? She could just hear the other kids now, calling her the hyndrangea hyena or something like that. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “It’s not really… normal.”

Mrs. Mewcham looked her in the eyes. “You remember when I said how plants are all different, even from other plants of the same kind? The nice thing about that is, plants don’t try to be other plants. They just are what they are and do what they were made to do, and that’s one of the things that makes them so beautiful. They don’t waste time trying to please anyone or be what anyone thinks they should be. They just grow. Honestly I look at you and I think you could learn something from them. You’re something more than just normal or abnormal, Vicky. You’re an individual. The only normal you need to worry about is _your_ normal; being the best you you can be.”

As strange as it all sounded, there was something about it that sounded very refreshing to Vicky; very reassuring and genuine. Besides, it was Mrs. Mewcham. She wanted to make her happy.

~

It would be nice to say that after that Vicky became a different mammal, and that her happiness helped her parents not to quarrel so much, but I’m afraid it wouldn’t be true. In fact, very little changed about Vicky’s life for a long time. Her parents still argued. She still kept to herself. Her grades improved a little, but she was still no honors student.

For a few hours a day, though, if the weather allowed it, she would go out into the yard and tend a little garden she had started. By and by the yard became, if not beautiful, at least a little nicer, and Vicky became, if not exactly happy, a little calmer. For those few hours a day, she was content. She was herself.

**Author's Note:**

> In the postings I’ve done so far of my characters on DeviantArt, I’m kind of surprised at how popular Vicky has turned out to be; probably because I always pictured her as a very cynical character, whereas Elimmc’s rendition clearly catches her in a good mood. It may surprise some readers, then, to see this side of her background. I never imagined Vicky as a particularly happy character, but I believe every life that lasts long enough has both joy and suffering in it if you take the time to look, so I wanted to present Vicky’s story as a blend of the two. Making gardens a key feature was an interesting touch to tackle, especially as I’ve never grown anything but vegetables and the odd tree myself. Funnily enough I can’t quite remember what gave me the idea to give Vicky a career in horticulture later in life, but I’m pleased with how it ties the chapter together so I guess that’s good enough.
> 
> The part about a barbell might also confuse some readers, so here’s a quick explanation. Biting seemed like an obvious way for a predator to relieve tension or boredom, but in the Zootopia world most of the bones we give to dogs as chew toys – cow and horse bones, for example – would be unthinkable. Rawhide would also be out, and most substitutes of reptilian or other origin (alligator bones, rubber, etcetera) seemed unlikely for a hyena because their jaws are strong enough to crush cattle bones and tough enough to chew on broken glass. In the end, biting down on something metal seemed the only solution, and I figured a hand-weight or barbell would be as good as anything. Lifting barbells is also good for stress relief, but somehow young Vicky seemed more like the chewing type.


End file.
